hello you won the Blorbo Poll War and I would like reparations. write me a fic about Eldacar please and thank you ❤️
your wish is my command o7 (snagged the idea of including a Rivendell Elf in this fic from @sallysavestheday; her Eldacar fic All Will Be Well, and All Will Be Well is great and everyone should go read it!!!)
His voice such love and longing filled
one moment stood she, fear was stilled;
one moment only; like a flame
he leaped towards her as she stayed
and caught and kissed that elfin maid."
The court of Gondor was held rapt by the voice of a minstrel, a traveling Elf from Rivendell. Eldacar was enthralled himself; it was the first time he had heard the Lay of Leithian in full, for all that it told the story of his forebears, and it was - lovely. The Elf's voice rippled through the court, and images followed in its wake: a dancing Elf-maid, a Man no longer alone. Light feet dancing upon a green sward.
He looked at his father, on the throne, and his mother next to him. They alone, of all the many royals in the room, were not looking at the minstrel.
They were looking at each other.
Adar's eyes were soft and warm, crinkling at the corners as he gazed at Naneth. She was holding out her hand to him; and as Eldacar watched, Valacar's fingers curled over Vidumavi's, lost in a dream of their own.
"there flitting just before his feet
she gently chid with laughter sweet;
'Come! dance now, Beren, dance with me!
For fain thy dancing I would see.'"
Eldacar remembered a bedtime story, long ago: "How did you and Ada meet, Naneth?" he had asked sleepily.
Her fingers had paused in their stroking over his brow. "He was dancing," she said. "We had both fled my father's court for the evening, and were in the courtyard under the stars. He did not know I was there; but he was dancing with an invisible partner to the music that drifted out from the balcony, and I knew I was in love."
"In love!" Eldacar's eyes had widened. "How did you know so quickly?"
She had laughed. "It is difficult to describe. My heart leapt within me. I had never seen anyone like him - so tall, so dark! - and I wanted in that moment to dance with him forever." Her tone turned sad. "But love is not without cost."
Eldacar, at the time, had not understood. He had been shielded and cossetted for as long as his parents could manage. But the veiled remarks, the long stares and the whispers, had ever followed him.
He knew now what she meant.
"'I sell not to Men those whom I love'
said Thingol, 'whom all things above
I cherish; and if hope there were
that Beren should ever living fare
to the Thousand Caves once more, I swear
he should not ever have seen the air
or light of heaven's stars again.'"
The mingled light and darkness of Menegroth's court seemed to play over the courtiers' faces. There had been gasps at Thingol's cruel refusal. Now there were tears at the thought of Beren's loss. Yet amid the tears there were several vicious looks cast at the joined hands of the King and Queen.
Only a week ago, Eldacar had been wandering the halls when a little girl bumped into him, dark-haired and grey-eyed. She had looked up at him with avid curiosity.
"Are you Eldacar?" she had asked.
"Yes," Eldacar had said, smiling. "And what is your name?"
She ignored this, in favor of looking him up and down intently. "You don't look as if you are about to die," she announced finally. "But my naneth says you are. Are you?"
"I..." Eldacar had trailed off. He did not know what to say. "I - do not believe so?" he had offered, and the little girl had frowned as if disappointed. He supposed that his answer was not particularly exciting.
Then she said, with the air of one gathering what she could after a loss, "Well, I have heard that your naneth is a sorceress, anyway."
"She is not," said Eldacar firmly.
"But my naneth says -" the girl was cut off by a lady sweeping down the hallway, cheeks red.
"We mustn't be rude," she scolded, and swept into a deep bow before Eldacar. "I am sorry, my Prince."
"It is quite all right," Eldacar had said, at a loss, and watched the child go.
Now he looked out at the faces of his people, enchanted by the tale of an Elf-maid and her mortal lover, and wondered how many of them scorned his mother. How many of them viewed him as lesser, simply because he might not see two hundred years.
Would he have made Lúthien's choice, he wondered. He supposed, in some ways, he already had. The long life of the Númenóreans of old might never be his. But he would not give up his mother for a single further day of life - no, not for the noblest lady of the Dúnedain! Vidumavi was his mother, gentle and laughing, noble and fair, and he would not want another.
The Lay ended, the minstrel bowing with a flourish. Amid the applause, the King stood and spoke.
"Our thanks!" he said. "That was a rare performance; and a lovely reminder of our history. Love will triumph!" He glanced at Vidumavi as he said this and caught her smile.
"So it will," the Elf agreed, gravely. "And ever our people bear love for yours, for Lúthien's sake, and for the sake of Dior the Beautiful and his sons Elúrin and Elúred, who are lost to us forever."
Eldacar shivered violently. Lúthien and Beren had lived in peace; but their son, the mingling of two peoples, had not had such a luxury. His sons slain, his kingdom destroyed, his culture gone.
Surely he would not meet Dior's fate. His people were kind. His mother was beloved; how could she not be beloved? And his father was a great king.
He caught Castamir's eye, dark and fathomless, and shuddered again.
Surely he would not meet Dior's fate.
